


and I would have met you

by highboys (orphan_account)



Category: SKET Dance
Genre: Community: 31_days, F/M, Multi, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>31 scenes in a lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I would have met you

 

 

**1\. this was once a love poem**

 

 

On the day Ryosuke proposes to Haru, Akane takes him aside to go over the finer points of stressing him out under the pretext of picking out his clothes.

"Did you remember to call for reservations?" Akane asks, dusting off imaginary lint off the shoulders of his long-sleeved shirt. It is white and easy to crumple with every movement, but under the severity of Akane's care, it looks relatively better than it would have with Ryosuke's unsupervised flailing as he rummages through his closet for the cufflinks Akane's father lent him. "What about flowers? You know you shouldn't get her peonies – they –"

"Make her kind of allergic, I know," says Ryosuke, rolling his eyes. He would have shrugged, under normal circumstances, but Akane had expressly forbidden it (read: she had thrown a bitch fit and upended a side table) when he had tried to do so as she nattered on about how teasing Haru was a surefire way to boost his chances of getting rejected. "I've been with her since I was a kid, you know, you're not the one who had a panic attack the first time around, mother."

The smack upside Ryosuke's head is probably a little excessive and not altogether undeserved, but Ryosuke enjoys the mild distraction. "Keep talking like that and you'll be showing up with a black eye to match that tie of yours, jerk," says Akane, waving her fist in the air.

Ryosuke bends to cover the back of his head with his hands. It's worth the effort to hide the wide grin threatening to ruin his plaintive whining. " _Ow_ , stop, damn it, you're ruining my hair!"

"Oh, for god's sake," says Akane, grabbing him by his elbow and steering him back to face the mirror. "Pass me the hair gel and quit whining."

Ryosuke surrenders the bottle, grumbling under his breath, but he does not flinch when Akane passes her palms across his bangs, the top of his head, into his scalp. Instead, he meets Akane's eyes, raising his chin and settling down. When he stares at himself, he does not know what to think, and even when Akane runs a comb through the more unruly strands of hair, he cannot even recognize himself. To be sure, it is his appearance reflected in the mirror, but beyond that, in the places well-hidden, in his pockets where a box lay, there is that unsettling sense of surety that tomorrow, perhaps tonight, he will not be the same person as he is today.

"It's scary, isn't it?" Akane's voice, trembling despite the detachment in her expression, makes him turn to look at her despite the click of her teeth and tongue. "I never thought we'd all become adults so quickly."

Ryosuke feels a slight pang, at that; there are some things Akane says that make him feel nothing but regret, because Akane has had a relatively normal life, and Ryosuke and Haru have never really understood that kind of stability, where moving out was not a requirement imposed to make more space for younger children. Still, he understands, in the way that Akane hesitates. He catches the back of her hand, strokes her knuckles and lets her hold on to him, tightly.

"Since when were you a kid?" Ryosuke says, absently -- fondly, almost..

Akane's lips settle into a thin line, but her eyes are soft and her touch is still and reassuring. "I forgot you're talented at denial."

"Come on," says Ryosuke, bopping her arm gently with his head, "you're getting really sentimental on me."

"Consider it practice for when Haru cries all over the table napkin after you fuck up," says Akane. There is a warning in there, but Akane holds him gently, like a mother would to her child.

"Don't worry," says Ryosuke. "I've never been more serious in my life."

They stare at each other, assessing, like strangers or rivals at a rare moment of recognition, and Akane must find something earnest in his expression, then, because she relaxes into a sigh.

"Good," says Akane. "Now run that proposal to me one more time, and I promise this time I won't laugh at your attempts at waxing poetic about Haru's beautiful eyes."

There's some jest in there, but Ryosuke thinks of the things he had written, all false starts and fits of hysteria with a rare tinge of sudden, startling clarity, and this could not be anything but love, he realizes.

He thinks Akane must know that, too.

"Never should have showed that draft to you," says Ryosuke, groaning.

Akane smiles, showing teeth. "Just start talking, Romeo."

He talks, and he talks, and he talks, until the clock strikes eight and the quiet staccato of Akane's heels and his own leather shoes sound outside his door and into the hallway of Haru's apartment, where he knows someone waits for him as surely as he has waited his entire life for her.

 

 

**2\. wringing stars out of zero**

 

 

"What are you so nervous about?" Haru asks, as soon as they are seated and ready to order. Ryosuke imagines that Akane is already calculating the odds of him striking out as she spies on them from a nearby table, but it does not help assuage his anxiety.

"What are you talking about?" Ryosuke asks, palms up. "I'm not nervous at all."

"I suppose," says Haru. Her eyes are alight with some unspoken amusement, and he thanks whatever deity there is that blessed him with a girl ready and willing to overlook his imperfections.

No, not a girl, he thinks, as she tucks a few wayward strands of her hair behind her ear. Girlish, but still a woman, with her longer limbs, her slender frame. Her eyelashes, dark and thick. Her mouth like cupid's bow.

"You look wonderful," Ryosuke blurts out.

Haru looks surprised, and pleased. "Thank you, but I didn't do anything particularly different tonight...?"

 _You always look beautiful_ , Ryosuke thinks. Something inside him hums; it thrills as she leans closer to press a kiss to his ear, like a promise.

The waiter comes and Ryosuke has no idea how he manages to go through the motions of remembering the things Haru likes; something light and fruity, for an appetizer, and pasta and scallops for the main course. It is almost second nature to him now, and he realizes it will be for the rest of his life. If she says yes. The ring calls to him, quietly. Insistent. Yes, yes, _yes_.

Outside, the night sky is still dark, but Ryosuke thinks he can still see stars, in Haru's eyes, her cheek, her smile. No delay, no regrets. Just say it.

Really, how can he not ask?

It is only later, after the subsequent half-second of internal hysteria and the clapping from the rest of the patrons that Ryosuke remembers to get up from kneeling on the floor.

The food they leave barely touched, on their table. He offers her his arm, and they walk to the dance floor, hips touching. The softness of her dress, he can feel, as she sways closer to him.

"Thank you for asking," she tells him, raising her hand to touch his jaw.

"Thank you for saying yes," he breathes out.

They dance pressed together, cheek to cheek, and on her finger, something glints.

 

 

And this image, Akane keeps recorded in her mind. Replays it, over and over, until the tears come, slow and sparse.

 

 

**3\. ankles, elbows, eyes, and thighs**

 

 

Ryosuke wakes up to Haru's socked foot on his cheek.

He lays there, unmoving, even if the fabric irritates his skin. The last time Haru slept over, he'd ended up with a bruise on his brow; the slightest touch to Haru's bare ankle, and already she knows to kick. It is a warped sort of defense mechanism that only children often terrorized by their bedside companions in their sleep would develop, and considering that Ryosuke has done most of the terrorizing in their youth, well...

Haru makes a soft sound, at the back of her throat. Her legs shift around Ryosuke's chest; her toes curl and dig into his shoulder. Then, she is still.

"I know you're awake," says Ryosuke, sighing a kiss into the gaps between her toes, the plane of her feet. The tiny pink ears of her sock nudges his earlobe. "

He touches the sole of her foot, cradling it in his palm. His thumb rubs the bare hint of her ankle. A twitch, but no sign of surrender. He eyes the line of her back, sees the slight stiffening of her shoulders, and he smiles.

"Five seconds," he warns, "and I'm taking this off and having my way with your foot." Four. Three. Two--

She taps his nose with her foot, in stubborn submission. "I'm up," says Haru, rising on her elbows and turning to look at him. "I'm up, I'm up, now can you please let me go?"

Ryosuke's shoulders sag further into the mattress. "You're no fun at all."

"That's not what you said yesterday," teases Haru. She hides her mouth behind her small hand, but Ryosuke can still see her dimpled cheek, red spreading across the skin in tiny blotches.

"Good morning to you too," says Ryosuke, cheerfully. He leans forward, and rests his palms against her hips, strokes her thigh as she brings him closer to her for a kiss.

"I have to make breakfast," she tells him, when they separate.

"Later," says Ryosuke. A hint of worry wrinkles Haru's brow, but it is easy enough to assuage, easy enough to smooth over with a soft, fleeting kiss.

"Later," she agrees.

 

 

**4\. the return to love with perspective**

 

 

Haru has only made love to two people in her life, and the first was not Ryosuke. In Akane's room on the second floor of her house, on her bed that smelled of cologne and fruit and yesterday's traces of an after-dinner snack, Akane had kissed her and kissed her until she could barely think.

"You're so pretty, Haru," says Ryosuke, now, as his thumb swipes at the sweat on her forehead. Akane had said nearly the same thing, once. Once, and never again.

Ryosuke is so earnest. Ryosuke is so kind. So much like Akane. They are both so similar, and it is regrettable they cannot realize it.

When Haru traces the outline of Ryosuke's body with her mouth, she peppers kisses across his elbow like she would to Akane's wrist. When she shuts her eyes, she almost -- _almost_ \--forgets the name she breathes out.

There are reasons of course. The first is that Akane is beautiful. The second is that Haru loves her very much. The third -- because, because, because.

Haru makes lists, to compare, as Ryosuke holds her. Akane's locks, brown and soft and easy to tame with her fingers, are not like Ryosuke's wayward hair. Haru searches for a mark on Ryosuke's cheek beyond a bruise from the kitchen cabinet. None, none, nothing.

And there are still some other things to think about. Akane likes it quick, and rough; it is as if she is running after some phantom in Haru's body, like some soul possesses the flutter of Haru's eyelashes, the swell of her cheeks like apples. Akane's nails are long and shine under the lamplight, smattered pastel colors already chipped and worn after days of sketching. Her tongue on Haru is coy and suspiciously experienced; her voice is low and thrilling, even as she asks Haru to raise her hips. It lights something in her that refuses to chill even after she comes.

Ryosuke is not Akane. He falters as he touches her, and Haru has to guide his hands, to teach him that there is nothing fearful, nothing he cannot explore. His fingers, like crooked stalks, take their time in bringing her to completion. His speech seems robbed of sense, inarticulate in the rhythm of their motions. The dip of his back. The scattered freckles across his shoulders. A broader frame.

So many things different, but oh, oh, _oh_ , there it is. There it is.

That fire. It still burns.

 

 

**5\. your hour is a stone**

 

 

If Akane adds up the amount of time she spends with Ryosuke alone in a week, it comes up to a measly hour, give or take. It stretches, long and empty, into words of little importance and gestures of awkward affection.

It's almost sad to remember that she spends even less with Haru, alone.

Almost.

Today Haru has kicked them out of Akane's apartment as she cleans out the garbage in Akane's room. The pachinko parlor proves to be too much of a temptation, and soon Ryosuke is down to his last hundred or so yen, yelling at the machine as Akane laughs at his misfortune.

"I'm dying," Ryosuke moans, through the spaces between his fingers. "I'm dead."

"Definitely," says Akane, without much sympathy. "Not like you weren't dead the moment we stepped inside this place."

"I thought women were supposed to be good luck," says Ryosuke, face pressed flat against the counter. "What is wrong with you?"

"That's sexist," says Akane, disgusted. "And completely inappropriate. And also, I didn't set out to be a fully functioning member of society to suit your leisure, jerk."

"I thought we were having a moment," says Ryosuke, sadly. "You killed it."

"The only thing we're killing is time," says Akane.

Ryosuke slumps forward. "I don't get why you're so messy even as an adult. Haru's not your mom, you know."

Not her mother, Akane thinks, with a pang of guilt. "I didn't say she had to clean up."

"I feel so sorry for your future husband," says Ryosuke. "Dirty dishes in the sink, clothes all over the floor, piles of sketchbooks and drafting paper stacked in your drawers... hey, do you think I could have that spare blank tape under your bed?"

"When I grow up, I'm hiring a house keeper," Akane retorts, "so my future husband won't have a reason to complain. And no, that's not a spare, nor is it blank."

"Ah, you're no fun," says Ryosuke, smiling. "Thank god I'm not your husband, then."

Akane tilts her head. She clenches her fists as she folds her arms across her chest. Waits for a beat to pass before she says, "Thank god for small miracles, then."

She wonders if he means it. Always, always, she wonders.

 

 

**6\. my moment is a flower**

 

 

Akane leaves her purse on the kitchen counter as she passes it; her keys, she tosses to the small ceramic bowl Ryosuke got her as a housewarming gift. She is on her way to the bathroom, intent on cooling her head with a particularly freezing shower, when she hears the noise from her room. She stops, and peers inside.

"You're still here?" Akane asks, honestly surprised. Amidst a stack of unused sketchpads, Haru glances upwards.

"Still here," says Haru, and she grins. Or, at least, comes close to it; she shows too little teeth, and there is a shyness, a natural reticence Akane has long since given up on weaning off of her. Years and years of half-eager smiles that still come off as more honest and prized than Ryosuke's own.

"I'm sorry," says Akane. "I had no idea I had so much stuff..."

"That only means Akane-chan isn't boring," says Haru, lightly.

Akane's brow wrinkles. "You really didn't have to do this. I mean, I know you're busy with your new home and stuff--"

"Akane," says Haru. She stands up and places her palm over Akane's clenched fingers. "It's okay. I was glad to have something to do."

Akane looks at her, askance. "But still..."

"You're never a bother," says Haru, with a firmness that still shocks Akane. She will never get used to it: Haru, pretty as a bud in spring, but fervent with her passions at equal turns.

Something in Akane tightens. It blossoms, and it stutters to a stop. She thinks it is love, but it is so strange.

"You're a good friend," says Akane, tightly. Haru's hand presses closer to her knuckles; it rubs against the back of her hand. A moment. Just a moment. That's all she needs.

"Yes," Haru echoes. "Always."

 

 

**7\. days of mint and rain**

 

 

After the cherry blossoms have scattered and the flower viewing spots have emptied, the end of May brings with it the beginning of a summer storm.

Ryosuke keeps staring outside their apartment window, as if by some stroke of luck the rain will pass. Akane likens him to a dog bereft of its owner. Haru is inclined to agree.

Unlike Ryosuke, Haru does not content herself to curling up against the sofa and sulking like a deprived child. Instead, she finds something to do in the kitchen. She takes a rag and passes it over every surface available: the counters, the sink, the table, the top of the oven, and so on. When everything appears clean, she makes a mental checklist of the kitchen inventory. There are a few cans of dried goods on the top drawer, a remnant of Akane and Ryosuke's combined panic attacks over the news report's forecast of the worst weather in decades; sometimes Haru thinks that both of them are too paranoid for their own good, but the picture they paint is persuasive enough.

"I want to go outside," says Ryosuke, as Haru rearranges the magnets on the refrigerator. He is leaning against the doorframe, now, still sullen. Haru sticks the tiny Totoro magnet against this month's electricity bill and opens the refrigerator door.

"We _are_ running low on milk," says Haru, as she pokes around the refrigerator's contents.

"Akane took the last umbrella we had," says Ryosuke. "And I think I tore through my galoshes the last time I helped that old lady cross the street."

"To be fair, that barbed wire fence wasn't really looking," says Haru, with some mischief.

"Ha ha," says Ryosuke, "you laugh now, but guess who was hysterical then."

Haru leans over to kiss the side of his mouth. He smells of mint, from his after shave. "It was Akane," says Haru.

"Yeah," says Ryosuke, sighing. "You're probably right."

 

 

**8\. August, too sunstruck for lessons**

 

 

Akane goes to uni for some fancy design course; Ryosuke listens with half an ear every time Akane blathers on about the things she does in class, despite Haru's disapproving glances and the subtle kicks under the table. It is not that Ryosuke does not care for Akane at all, but there are some things between the two of them that do not click at all.

Today, at least, Akane is busy cramming half a dozen plates for a class she has completely forgotten about; she invades their kitchen table and sets to work, surrounded by technical pens and paper. Ryosuke amuses himself by rubbing the last of her eraser against the kitchen table and flicking off the shrivelled bits at Akane as she growls at him to stop.

"Can't you find something else to amuse yourself with?" Akane snaps. "Like, I don't know, maybe going to work?"

"I'm on leave," says Ryosuke, "and you're crashing our place and effectively killing off my plans of taking Haru to the pool. Call it retribution, if you will."

"If I weren't so busy and if the weather wasn't this hot," says Akane, darkly, "I'd punch you in the face." It isn't a threat if she plans on making it true. Ryosuke grimaces at the realization, but perks up when he remembers something.

"No you wouldn't," says Ryosuke, proudly. "Haru has you grounded from last time."

Akane kicks him under the table. Ryosuke yelps in pain and cradles his knee.

"Children," Haru chides, as she pours the chocolate mix into three mugs. "Behave."

"Did you see that?" Ryosuke says. "Did you? She must have broken my knee cap with those heels of hers!"

"I was aiming for your groin," says Akane, helpfully. She's pushed away her work, now; the sight of Ryosuke whimpering like a wounded pup is a memory worth keeping. "Didn't think I'd miss."

"I can't believe you would hit someone who regularly goes out of his way to help people," says Ryosuke. "That's bad karma."

"Kicking the ass of an idiot is good karma, so I think it evens out anyway."

"Here you go," says Haru, before Ryosuke can say anything more. She passes the smaller mug to him; the tips of their fingers touch, briefly. Haru blushes, slightly, perhaps from the heat.

"Thanks," says Ryosuke, smiling soppily at his wife. It's like high school all over again, only worse.

Akane rests her chin on her palm and sighs as she stares at them. "Dumbass."

 

 

**9\. all beyond saving by children**

 

 

Sometimes when the three of them pass by pet stores, Akane stops and peers into the window, waving at kittens and making pawing motions at the puppies. Haru looks serene, as she usually does, but she keeps giving Ryosuke guilty looks before she gives in and joins Akane in cooing at the animals.

Akane doesn't know why Ryosuke looks a little distressed, every time, like some part of him closes up and can't bear looking at both of them for too long. A part of her reasons that he must not like animals much, but he rescues enough cats from trees to negate that thought. Perhaps he is jealous of all the attention they get from Haru? No, Haru plays with the neighborhood strays on a near daily basis; he isn't that kind of man. When she asks, Ryosuke just shuffles a little closer to the window and looks glum. "I'll never love another again," says Ryosuke, wistful even as he taps a finger against the glass, lining up perfectly with a pink paw dotted with black spots.

"Drama queen," says Akane, sniffing.

She wonders about this for at least a fortnight after she first notices, and it is only after they finish watching a little boy's dog die on TV that she gets an answer.

"Sheesh," says Akane, passing Ryosuke a wad of tissues. "What's wrong with you? This is, like, the hundredth time we watched Dog of Flanders."

Haru's fingers curl around Ryosuke's shoulder, consoling even as she sighs. "There, there."

"Nello," bawls Ryosuke, although the word comes out mangled as he sobs. "Patrasche!"

"Oh god," says Akane. "Turn that thing off!"

Haru does.

"Okay," says Akane, even as Ryosuke trudges off to the bathroom to wash his face. "What was that about?"

"It's a little complicated," says Haru.

Akane listens to the sounds of more wailing in the bathroom, a fresh round of nearly dried out tears. "Try me," says Akane.

It turns out that Ryosuke, as a kid, had picked up a stray dog and named it after Patrasche, only for the dog to die less than a year later. It's like he blames himself for the bad luck he's bestowed on the dog, what with its namesake's fate, and Akane can barely keep a straight face even if she does realize, on some base level, how acutely guilt can feel and how misplaced it can be when experienced at a young age.

"He's repressed," says Akane, flatly. "And masochistic. Have I mentioned that?"

"Only the last ten times," says Haru, lightly. "It's a sensitive subject." Her eyes mist, slightly, and Akane hesitates before she loops her arm around Haru's and smacks Ryosuke's back with her other hand.

"Don't worry about it," says Akane. "My cousin cried for days after his first turtle died, and let me tell you, that kid was a fruitcake." Then he discovered video games, and promptly forgot all about his worries, but Akane doesn't want to ruin the moment with that realization. "If he got over it, who's to say Ryosuke won't?"

They coax Ryosuke out of the bathroom with promises of food (Haru's) and burning tapes (Akane's), and as Akane rips the film out of the tape, Ryosuke takes both of their hands and swallows.

It could be a start.

 

 

**10\. the great open dome**

 

 

Akane has this dream.

When she's older and her bank account is richer by a few hundred thousand yen, she'll take Haru and Ryosuke to Europe and they'll _ooh_ and _ah_ at all the tourist spots. Well, she and Haru would; Ryosuke would be content to stuff himself with ravioli and prosciutto in Italy, or wine and cheese in France, and he'll laugh at their disappointment when the art galleries are closed for renovation. Mostly, Ryosuke will let Akane drink off her heartache over a summer fling and listen to her whine about hot European men who can't understand a word of Japanese. Ryosuke will most likely get a black eye after picking a fight with Akane's not-boyfriend, but not before Akane gets a few punches in herself.

They'll go shopping, too, the three of them. They'll make Ryosuke carry their bags even if Ryosuke complains about how his video cam is a delicate thing and how he can't record while being their errand boy at the same time. The shots will be blurry and mostly inaudible when they get back home, but they're all happy, anyway, all smiles and blurred edges and halting attempts at barely intelligible foreign languages. Their English is barely passable, what more their knowledge of the romance languages? Still, Haru turns out to have a flair for French, and Akane will tease both of them until Ryosuke turns red and Haru hurts her back from laughing too hard.

She'll watch them get married, again, on impulse, somewhere with a memorable church that's stood for hundreds of years, with domes much larger than the ones back home and an open ceiling to let the sunlight in. They'll exchange their worn rings and struggle as they listen to the Latin words, but Akane will still cry and clap and whisk them off to an impromptu honeymoon in some private island off the coast.

And then when she's down to her last penny, they'll busk off at Vienna, Ryosuke playing a guitar and Akane singing and Haru dancing for the crowd. Someone will probably upload them to Youtube, if it exists, by then, and then they'll get famous as the three lost Japanese tourists trying to find their way back home together. It's a memory they'll laugh about with their kids, and it will be a story they'll never tire of.

Someday, she tells herself, and Akane dreams.

 

 

11\. one heartbite after another

 

 

When Ryosuke and Akane fight, they use angry, hurtful words. They provoke and tease at turns, sometimes with good humor, sometimes with none at all. Ryosuke is the reason Akane has a near-permanent crease on her brow. Akane is the reason Ryosuke rolls his eyes and sighs. They do it over the kitchen table as they steal each other's dumplings, or in the living room where they drown out the sounds of the television. They rip at each other's throats and bite a little deeper into the parts that hurt the most, with resolution that strikes at their most tender, private secrets, the things they confess only in the darkness. It ends with awkward offerings of pudding and no words, only the two of them seated shoulder to shoulder in front of the TV. On occasion, there may be a punch or two. Haru shakes her head at both of them and smiles.

When Akane and Haru fight, Akane sullenly picks at her fast food fare as Ryosuke outlines the many reasons Akane screwed up. It's a rare enough scenario that Akane has no idea how to react, but she knows that Haru never needs an apology, much like how she never seems to need anything else. The least Ryosuke can do is to _not_ be a complete ass about it, but if the way he pushes his soda to her is any indication, he's equally as worried and impatient for the bad feelings to end.

When Ryosuke and Haru fight, Akane does not know how things turn out. They never fight in front of her (if they do fight at all), but Akane knows, sometimes, from the redness of Haru's eyes, the stiffness in Ryosuke's jaw, that they're not perfect, they'll never be happy 100 percent of the time, but they try. They try.

Akane will never know how these things end. She's not sure she can be self-possessed enough not to feel her heart ache at the thought.

 

 

**12\. do not choose sides yet**

 

 

When Ryosuke and Haru finally break the news to Akane, Akane has this look on her face. She has the same look she has on whenever she is about to erupt in tears over some completely over the top confession scene in a noontime drama. Her cheeks turn red. Her eyes begin to mist. Her mouth, it trembles.

"Oh crud," says Ryosuke, armed and ready with a box of tissues. He pulls wads of it and shoves it at Akane's face. "I _knew_ this was gonna happen, I _told_ you."

"I'm just," says Akane, already a broken mess on their kitchen floor, "I can't, oh my god, oh, oh, oh, _Haru_."

"Akane-chan, _breathe_ ," says Haru, touching her wrist.

Akane squeezes her nose into a tissue. "You're sure? You're absolutely sure?"

"Well, if we weren't, why would we even tell you," says Ryosuke, only Akane kicks his knee so the last part of his sentences comes out as a mangled half-curse.

"But their names," says Akane, "they're so. So."

"Say it," says Ryosuke.

"Perfect," Akane bawls into her hands. "I didn't think Ryosuke would have a sentimental bone in his body."

"Thank you," says Ryosuke.

"But the neighborhood kids will pick on them," Akane despairs. "Right and left? Seriously?"

"Oi!"

"I'm sure they'll protect each other," says Haru, patting her stomach. "Won't you, Yusuke-kun, Sasuke-kun?"

" _Haru_ ," says Akane, sniffling again, and it's a fresh wave of tears, this time, full of grabbing onto Haru's shoulders and never letting go.

"I'll just be here, then," says Ryosuke, put out. "Not like I had any part in making them."

Predictably, Ryosuke is ignored.

 

 

**13\. inconvenient but final**

 

 

On his way home, Ryosuke gets a call from Akane. He spends approximately five seconds deciding whether or not to answer before he remembers that Akane is with Haru right now, and if Akane is calling while catering to Haru's every need, then it is, by extension, something that requires Ryosuke's immediate assistance.

He can almost hear Akane's screeching reprimand about taking too long in answering the phone. True to form, as soon as he says, "Hello?", Akane is jumping at his throat.

"What the hell, Ryosuke, why are you so hard to contact?" Akane demands.

"I answered in less than ten seconds," says Ryosuke, dryly. "I think that that's normal in the real world, Akane-chan."

"What if Haru was in labor, huh?"

Ryosuke snorts and comes to a stop in front of a pedestrian crossing when the light turns red. "Haru's barely into her second trimester, I'm pretty sure premature babies aren't going to emerge from her that quickly."

"The point is," says Akane, raising her voice, "you didn't answer your phone quick enough, and don't you dare use that silent mode excuse on me. I checked your phone this morning."

"That's a clear infringement of my privacy!"

"You're _married_ , you have no privacy."

"Not to _you_."

"Are you done whining about how violated you feel right now?" Akane snaps.

Ryosuke purses his lips and begins to walk with the crowd when the traffic light changes to green. "You and I are going to have _words_ , young lady."

"Whatever," Akane grouses. There's a rustling sound, from the other line, with Haru's soft voice chiding Akane and Akane retorting with something that completely makes Ryosuke look like the bad guy. When Haru's greeting comes, Ryosuke's almost relieved that Haru's finally managed to get Akane away from the phone.

"Hey, you," says Ryosuke. "What's up with Akane? Is it that time of the month?"

"Ryosuke," says Haru, disapproving, but she knows him well enough to know he doesn't particularly find anything wrong with his teasing. "I was just wondering if you could pick something up from the store."

"Sure," says Ryosuke, trying to figure out the nearest konbini in his mental map. "What do you want me to get you? Nori? Soy sauce?" He pauses, and grimaces. "That weird cannoli thing with spicy tuna?"

"It's not that bad," says Haru. She's laughing, now, and it makes Ryosuke feel extremely giddy. "And I don't want to be too much of a bother. If it's out of your way--"

"It's not," Ryosuke lies, his tone taking on that note of finality he gets when Haru picks up his stubborn streak. "It's fine. Is that a yes to the spicy tuna?"

"Please," says Haru, and Ryosuke squares his shoulders, ready to hunt down whatever craving she has in mind.

He can never say no.

 

 

**14\. and i'm afraid it's you**

 

 

Akane calls Ryosuke, at three in the morning. She sounds frazzled and hysterical, and it's enough to rouse Ryosuke from his half-asleep state. He thinks of emergencies and robberies and oh god, what if something happened to her parents, what if some stalker was harrassing her -- perfectly normal, perfectly understandable paranoia. Ryosuke tightens his grip on his bike and pedals faster.

When he gets there, however -- it's a different story.

"A cockroach," says Ryosuke, looking askance at the said horror on Akane's bedroom floor. Akane shrieks as it twitches; she grabs onto Ryosuke tightly. "You called me at the crack of dawn just to kill an insect a hundred times smaller than you are."

"Shut up and kill it," says Akane, looking a little crazed.

Just for that, Ryosuke chooses Akane's favorite slipper as a weapon of choice.

 

 

**15\. the almanac of last things**

 

 

"We should go book shopping," says Haru, thoughtfully, as she cradles a pitcher of iced tea to her chest and closes the refrigerator door behind her.

"What," says Ryosuke, pausing from wiping down the shelves with a dust rag.

"I said, we should go shopping for books," says Haru. "For the baby."

Ryosuke would like to know why a baby would feel the need to do anything with a book beyond ripping the pages off the spine and throwing it against the wall (no wonder they were the covers were so thick and durable), but he's learned that Haru tends to become more sensitive with each passing day and would likely cry to Akane when left alone. "Okay," says Ryosuke, dropping the rag to the counter and picking up the plates from the table. "What did you have in mind?"

Haru's expression brightens considerably, a change from the wan smile she'd given earlier in her discomfort from the heat. "I was thinking we could look at encyclopedias and dictionaries," Haru gushes, through a mouthful of tea. "Oh, and coloring books!"

Ryosuke rolls his eyes. "An _encyclopedia_? That's…" Stupid, is the word for it, but he settles for "ambitious" instead. He keeps his silence because he knows that all the things Haru wants for their child are small regrets she wishes they could have had, beyond a collection of outdated almanacs in the reading room and an atlas, no toys to spare for the older children and too many mouths to feed. A family, but still. They could have had better, in another lifetime.

"I'll read to them once," says Haru, softly, her eyes clouded with something like hope. "Every single day."

He doesn't doubt it.


End file.
